


Last days of summer

by caricari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caricari/pseuds/caricari
Summary: One angel, one demon, a park, some champagne and the last days of a London summer. Set a few weeks post-armageddon.





	Last days of summer

Hampstead heath was hot and blustery, baked in late autumn sunlight. The humans on the news program, earlier that day, had called it an ‘Indian summer’ and people had come out in their droves to worship it. The shapes of them moved through the woodlands. Their clothes and picnic blankets made brightly coloured points amidst nature’s brown and green. The air was still with the heat, punctuated occasionally by the sound of dogs and children, and the shouts of their keepers, and the sporadic sound of laughter. The noise of cars and busses and the city were far away. Only an entrepreneurial ice cream van, which had ventured off the strictly legal path, disturbed the silence, occasionally ringing out a tune to drum up trade. 

An angel and a demon sat and lay, respectively, near the top of a hill, high on the heath. The spot allowed a lofty viewpoint over the city. On a sunny day, it would usually be packed with sunbathers but, by some miracle, the humans had decided to set up shop a little lower down today. There was no one nearby, which suited the demon perfectly. He was not in the mood for human nonsense, or their incessant chatter, or the sound of Radio One playing through tinny iPhone speakers wedged into a solo cup. He was feeling pleasantly lethargic, due to the sunshine and the heat, and all he wanted to do was relax. He had always liked to bask, ever since the beginning. 

Beside him, the angel looked like he was enjoying the heat as well. It was far cooler, after all, than the deserts he travelled in Egypt, or the thick jungles of the Zaire basin. It was cooler than Rome in the height of the summer, or the little islands along the coast of Greece. Aziraphale had taken his coat off, in deference to the weather, and rolled up his shirtsleeves, though he had left his waistcoat on. There was no need to change what they were wearing, really. The angel and the demon were celestial beings, after all, and could alter the temperature of their mortal bodies at will. Usually, they would not bother to change costumes for the weather, apart from for appearances sake when it became extremely hot or cold, but there was something special about this year, something special about these last days of summer. They were more valuable than all the last days which had come before, because they had been hard won. They had been fought for, sacrificed for, over a very long decade, against terrible odds. 

The demon glanced over at the angel from his position on the ground, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed. There might have been no park at all, he thought, as grass tickled the side of his cheek. There might have been no sky, or sun, or any of it. Reality had been meant to split along the seams and the world along with it, sending millions of souls into limbo, and starting a war that would end all wars. There might have been no him, and no Aziraphale. There very nearly was no him, and no Aziraphale. The thought would send a chill through him, on any other day, but day was warm and they were together, so he felt a little braver. The powers that be had lost interest in them, for now. London was thrilled with its unseasonal heatwave, and the humans were up to their usual business of small goods and evils, not giving a toss for any plans Heaven and Hell had in store for them. 

Crowley flexed his toes into the grass. He had kicked his shoes off not long after they arrived in the park. He had pulled his jacket off as they had sat down, and rolled it into a pillow for his head. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to the elbows, and his jeans were rolled up to the calves. He was soaking in every last bit of sunshine he could manage, safe in the knowledge that his skin wouldn’t burn. (It wouldn’t dare - though it might try to gather some freckles, if he didn’t keep a close enough eye on it). The grass underfoot was cooler than the air and had a comforting firmness about it, belaying the fact that it had nearly ended up as a flaming ball of carbon, hurtling through the void of space. Thank Someone that Adam was as pigheaded as his father, thought Crowley, pressing back into the ground. As stubborn as Lucifer and as human as his real parents. 

“Oh look, there’s another one.”

Crowley looked over. 

Aziraphale was watching kites. 

Kites were exactly the sort of thing the demon would have expected the angel to like; pretty, capricious, and not quite worth the time it takes to untangle all the lines and get them up in the air. Things of beauty and complexion. Watching them glide, riding the swells and troughs, Crowley would admit that they are beautiful, but he found he preferred to watch the angel’s enjoyment.

As his friend pointed out the purple and red sail, bobbing just above the horizon of their hill, he watched the line of his arm, following it back to his shoulder, then up to the animated angles of his face. Aziraphale, in sunlight, relaxed, was a different creature to the one who stood beside him at the Tadfield airbase. The last decade had been intolerably hard on the angel, the demon knew. What he did that day, the choices he made, had been even harder - the culmination of a lifetime of questions that Aziraphale had never dared to ask. And now they are something new, on their own side, possibly excommunicated from Heaven and Hell (though, somehow, feeling a lot closer to God because of it). He deserved to watch kites and sit in the sun, thought the demon. He deserved to push the future away, for a while, and drink disgustingly expensive champagne and snack on inappropriately fancy picnic food. 

“That one is a delta kite,” the angel explained to him, with the sort of excited interest he usually reserved for books, or music, or a good wine. His eyes, blue wrapped around hazel, flashed in the sun and Crowley found himself having to turn his head and look up at the kite because otherwise he’d end up staring. Even through the glasses, the angel would notice. Making a little noise which could have been interpreted as interest, he beckoned the angel to continue. “I read about them once,” the angel chatted on, brightly. “They catch a light breeze very well - better than the diamonds we’re used to seeing - though they can be a bit flighty. You know diamond kites, the ones humans make with their children?” The demon grunted to the affirmative. “They are generally considered to be a bit stabler.”

“Are they really?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale dropped his hand and leant back against it. 

The demon stared at the kite for a bit longer, wondering if he could possibly convince his friend to lie down beside him in the grass. He would like to see him spread out in the sun, enjoying it all properly. The angel could have too much decorum for his own good, sometimes. Nothing beat a bit of lying around in the grass on a hot summer day. Shoes off, of course. 

“What are you thinking?” The angel’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“About salmon,” he answered, reflexively. 

It was not altogether a lie, because his thoughts about the grass had been distantly linked to the fact that there was a small bag, just a few feet away, in the grass, and inside said bag there was a a lovely selection of salmon rillettes, among other delicacies. The demon neglected to mention the bit about imagining the angel spread out, enjoying himself with his shoes off. Might be taken the wrong way. 

“Oh!” The angel shifted in his seat to reach up behind them. For a moment, his head and torso disappeared from the demon’s peripheral vision, then he returned bearing a selection of snacks on a napkin and a bottle of champagne. He handed the napkin over to Crowley, who lay it on his belly for safekeeping, and brandished the bottle. “Top up?”

“Just pour it directly into my face,” the demon requested playfully, already knowing the response he’ll get. “Cut out the middle man.”

“This isn’t motorsport racing,” the angel motioned with his hand. “I know the world has nearly ended, my dear boy, but we should probably maintain some sort of standards. Hand over the glass.”

Giving a grumpy little noise, Crowley did so, and his friend filled it generously. Propping himself up on shoulders to drink, the demon scanned the park around them. The humans keeping to themselves, further down the hill, had been Aziraphale’s little move. The thought of the angel using his magic for his own purposes made the demon smile a little. His friend was clearly feeling adventurous in his new lack of supervision. Either that or there were going to be lots of biting insects up here, later, and he was just saving them the bother. Whichever, it was nice to have a bit of space and quiet. It was nice to be away from the world, but still part of it, the one person he wanted to be bothered with at his side. The demon popped the salmon rillette into his mouth. It was everything it should have been. He gave a small, contented noise. 

Behind him, the angel was still rummaging though the picnic bag. 

“This is really lovely, Crowley, where did you find it all?” 

The demon glanced over. Aziraphale was picking through some of the smaller plastic boxes, turning the only pre-packaged one over, to read the back.

“That shortbread is from that place in Edinburgh that I stayed, last spring,” the demon answered. “The rest, I made yesterday.”

The angel’s eyebrows jumped up. 

“You made all of this?” 

“Yup.” He sipped his champagne nonchalantly, hoping the effect was as cool as it felt. 

“You can cook?” 

“Yes. No need to sound so surprised,” the demon did his best to look a little bit offended. “I have picked up one or two life skills, over the past six thousand years, besides the ability to spread discord and strife. Learned how to do the little canapés last year,” he waved his hand. “The Pastilla and salad-y bits I picked up in Morocco, in the late sixties.”

“I had no idea.” Aziraphale was watching him in admiration. Crowley, ever one for a bit of admiration, gave a little flick of an eyebrow, feeling rather proud of himself. 

“I’m really rather good, you know.”

“Are you really?”

“Yup.”

“I didn’t know.”

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, angel.” He gave a little flirt, for old times’ sake. Some days, it was the little jokes that stopped the greater tide of feelings from breaking through.

“Evidently so.” The angel watched him for a moment longer, then gave a little smile and turned back to the bag. Placing the box of shortbread back inside, he took up the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass - then poured another for Crowley, without the demon having to ask. “When did you decide to learn, then?” He asked, as he set the bottle back down in an ice bucket which definitely hadn’t been there before. (Talk about a frivolous miracle). “I distinctly remember you saying, back in the twelfth century, that food was a pointless indulgence.”

“Well…” The answer to that was fairly straight forwards. Food had improved drastically since the middle ages. There was almost always no gravel in it, nowadays, and far fewer entrails involved. Crowley had decided to take an interest in food right about the moment that food had become something pleasurable - his reason being that Aziraphale had always been such a soft touch for the pleasurable. The demon had decided to learn to cook when he had moved permanently to London with very specific intentions in mind, but he had never really gathered up the impetus to put those plans into action. The closer he and the angel had become, the more he had realised what he had to lose. The ability to cook, far from an effective seduction technique, had mainly led to a reduction in the number of restaurants the demon could enjoy without getting irate about the quality of ingredients. “It was about two hundred years ago,” he synopsised, for the angel. “Food was getting better and you seemed keen on eating, and I was-,” keen on you, keen on you, keen on you, “-imagining a time where we might have sampled all the restaurants and eateries that our little corner of the world had to offer.” Coward. He hissed the word to himself internally, though he managed to hide the grimace. Interminable coward. “It seemed the logical thing to do.”

He took another sip of champagne and watched a pigeon flying overhead for a couple of moments, before glancing back at Aziraphale.  
The angel was watching him, expression slightly veiled. 

“That was thoughtful,” he said eventually. There was a strange edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t sure whether Crowley was trying to be nice or mocking him. 

“Well… Just another way to show off, isn’t it?” The demon shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. “People tend to get very impressed over Consommé, in particular.”

“So, you learned to cook to show off?” Aziraphale asked. The tone was very nearly one of ‘polite interest’, but Crowley could still detect that undercurrent. He wasn’t sure why the angel was tense, all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant the little story to come across mocking. It was actually fairly sweet, actually, if you knew all the details - it was just that Aziraphale didn’t know the details and Crowley could never tell him. He’d run a mile. 

The demon cleared his throat, feeling anxious.

“Yeah. Well, that, and you couldn’t find any decent Shakshuka in London.” 

“And where do you show it off?” The angel asked, with a little tilt of his head. “Do you have a secret restaurant somewhere that I don’t know about?”

The demon forced a laugh, which came out entirely too loud. “No, no, nothing like that.” They sat in silence for a minute, then he cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s just for… you know…” A blush tickled beneath the surface of his cheeks. He had to exert a good surge of his powers to suppress it. “…people.” 

“You learned to cook for people?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Why was he pushing this?

“What, then?” 

The angel was still watching him, eyes slightly narrowed. 

Crowley cringed. “For… a person,” he corrected, feeling suddenly very stupid and wishing he’d not mentioned the food thing at all. Most of the wretched stuff could be purchased within ten blocks of his Mayfair home. He could have given the name of any restaurant and the angel would have never known. “I learned to cook for a person.” He gritted his teeth. This was where it all went wrong. This was where the angel’s eyes went wide and he leant away, turned away, walked away, left him alone. “For you, actually,” Crowley muttered anyway. It was as good as explicit by this point. “I learned to cook for you. Happy?”

His stomach felt tight. He was furious with himself. Things had been going so well. He didn’t know why he had brought the stupid subject up. It had ruined a perfectly good afternoon. Now, Aziraphale would do his little routine of putting distance between them, of drawing back. He’d make some excuse and he’d head off back into town and Crowley would be left with the food that he really only wanted to show off with. 

He had thought things might be different, now. That little bit of hope in him - that bit he’d tried to quash over and over again, over the years - had sprung to life in the aftermath of the failed armageddon. The angel had sat beside him and held his hand, on the bus ride home. He had risked his life to fool heaven and Hell into leaving them be. He had offered his company and comfort, these past few weeks. They had spent every other day together. But Crowley had ruined it, as usual, by pushing too far, too fast, pushing them to somewhere Aziraphale might never be happy to go. 

Across the few feet of grass between them, his friend made a little noise and the demon tensed himself for the reprisal, but it didn’t come. Slowly, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the skyline, and looked back around. 

To his surprise, the angel was wearing a soft smile. 

“Yes, actually.” His voice was shy, but steady. His expression was open again, the caution which had lingered there, moments before, was suddenly gone. Crowley stared. “It does make me feel happy… and a little flattered.” 

The tense knot that had wound itself in the demon’s chest released, instantaneously. He breathed out, loosening the fingers he had clenched tight around the stem of his champagne glass.

“Oh.” It was all he could manage. The rest of his vocabulary, all the words in all the tongues of demons and men, had fled. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. This wasn’t at all what he had expected. “Right.”

Aziraphale’s smile stretched until he was positively aglow. “Don’t worry,” his eyes sparkled. “I’m not going to say you are nice, or anything barbaric.”

“Mlem,” Crowley said, succinctly. He gave his head a little shake. “Good. You’d better not.”

The angel’s lips parted into a grin. Perfect pink mouth, perfect white teeth. 

This really wasn’t how they worked, the demon thought, to himself. This wasn’t how things had ever played out, before. Before, the angel had always pulled back, turned his face, run away. Everything Crowley had learned about the world told him that Aziraphale should be pulling back, turning his face, running away, and yet here he was. Still there, still holding his glass of champagne, still watching Crowley very fondly. 

They stared at one another few seconds, then the angel gave a little exhale and looked down, turning his champagne glass in hand, watching the bubbles rise golden to the surface. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you there.” He gave a little shrug. “I know it’s silly. I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

Words still weren’t happening. Luckily the noise that came out of Crowley was a close approximation. 

“Eh?” 

“You stopped yourself, before,” Aziraphale explained, “from saying that you did it for me. And I know that’s my fault.” He looked down, clenching his jaw. “All the times I’ve pushed you away… all the times I’ve kept a distance… I know it’s my fault that you feel like you have to do that, but it could be different, now.” He looked up, shy and expectant. “You could be my friend, if you wanted?” 

“I’ve been your friend for a long time, angel,” Crowley stared, completely overwhelmed by this sudden foray into truth-telling, even though it had been his admission that started it. “You know that.”

“Yes,” the angel flushed a little. “But, I suppose, I mean… you can be my friend in the open, now.” He glanced upwards, as if he could see Heaven through the endless blue of Earth’s skies. “Before, I forced the distance between us because I thought it would keep us safe. It stopped them from knowing what we meant to one another, that they could use us against one another, but now…” He gave a little sigh and it sounded like release, like resignation. He looked back down from the heavens, back to Crowley. “Well, now everyone knows. We’re not safe, whatever we do, so there’s really no point keeping our distance anymore. We don’t have to pretend,” he finished, softly. 

There was such tender hope in his voice that Crowley wanted to mark it, wanted to reach out and touch him - to use his very human body in a very human way, to share both his very human and non-human feelings - but six thousand years of indoctrination were hard to shake. He lay very still, propped up on one elbow, watching instead.

“I suppose we can do what we like, now,” Aziraphale sighed, looking around them, at the brightly coloured people on the lawn, and the blue sky, and the green grass, and London spread out below them, glittering with it all. “Within reason.”

“I suppose we can,” murmured Crowley. 

The angel looked back over. 

“What would you like, Crowley?”

It was such a loaded question, but also so simple. The demon wasn’t sure which answer his friend wanted - his friend that he was really only just allowed to call a friend, but was also so much more. What would he like? The demon wasn’t sure. He had wanted so many things, over the years. He had wanted his friend, in so many ways. Some of it was very human, some of it wasn’t. They were both human and not, he thought, watching the sun catch in Aziraphale’s eyes. A demon and an angel, wrapped in mortal bodies, subject to mortal desires but also thrumming with a need for something more. Connection, across time. Crowley was fairly sure he wanted everything, forever, but he had no way of simplifying that into words. Not yet, anyways.

“Big question, angel,” he answered, instead, turning his head to watch his friend better.  
Aziraphale contemplated his words for a moment, then set his champagne glass down, off to the side where it could not be spilled. 

“It is,” he agreed. Watching the demon, he gave a little clear of the throat. His eyes were warm and bright, their pupils large. “How about what you want right now, this afternoon, in this park?” 

Narrowed down, so, the demon could cope with the question, even if he knew his response would make him blush a little. 

“Lie down beside me for a bit?” 

Aziraphale watched him for a few seconds, contemplative, then he smiled and nodded. 

The demon didn’t blush as much as he thought he would, as the angel lowered himself down beside him. The sight of his friend, spread out in the grass, gave him a thrill which made all the awkwardness of the request worthwhile. Aziraphale lay down on his back with his head turned to one side, soft belly rising and falling with his even breaths. There was something soothing about watching someone breathe, thought Crowley. He had always liked it, that gentle, repetitive reminder of life. Across the grass, Aziraphale watched the sky for a moment, then seemed to reconsider his positioning. Lifting himself up on one elbow, he shuffled himself closer to the demon, so that their shoulders were brushing, and lay down again. Turning his head to the side, he folded his hands on top of his stomach and watched Crowley with that open expression he had worn so very rarely, these past ten years. 

“What now?” He asked, softly. 

“Shoes off,” the demon muttered, before he thought better of it. “It’s better that way. You can feel the grass.”

The angel smiled and Crowley watched him pry one shoe off with his toes, then repeat the manoeuvre on the other foot. 

“Done.”

“And socks,” The demon added.

The angel didn’t bother reaching down, just gave a little narrowing of the eyes in concentration and the socks miraculously disappeared. Crowley grinned. 

“Frivolous,” he hissed. 

“Well, I’ve been using my power for Heaven for six thousand years. I think i’m owed a few frivolities.”

Crowley’s grin slipped a bit wider. He was quite sure the angel had indulged in one or two frivolities, in those past six thousand years, but that seemed to be part of the joke, so he didn’t say anything - just watched his friend across the distance between them. Aziraphale was relaxed, replete, beautiful. His eyes were very blue, dashed with hazel gold. 

“What now?” He asked again.

“Curl your toes into the grass.”

The angel gave a little noise. 

“Just do it. Trust me, it’s nice.”

The angel lay his head back and stared up at the sky. The demon did not look down to see if he was following his instructions but he did not need to. After a few moments, his friend gave a little half smile. 

“Okay. It is nice.” 

“Told you.” 

They lay side by side for another few minutes, alternating between looking at the sky and each other. Crowley tried to drink from his glass without sitting up, at one point, and dribbled champagne all over his face. Aziraphale chuckled a bit at that, then chuckled a bit more as the demon sat up and knocked back the rest of the glass in defiance, tossing the empty vessel over towards the food bag once he was finished. It would end up in the right place, the demon knew. Things he threw always did. 

Lying back down, he turned his face to the angel. 

“What would you like?” He asked, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat, and the particular wavelength of blue in the sky above, a perfect match for his angel’s eyes. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale considered the question for a moment, then pulled a face. “All of it, probably. I’ve never been much good at self denial.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. 

“All of what?” 

“Life.” The angel gave a little sigh. “We’ve spent so long watching it all. I want to try it for myself.”

“Mm. Big answer, angel,” he hummed. 

“Yes.” The symmetry of the conversation was not lost on Aziraphale. He turned his face towards Crowley and swept the lines of him very carefully. “Big answer,” he agreed. “But, right now, this afternoon, in this park, I think I’d like you to take your glasses off.”

It was an intimate request, but the demon tried his best not to hesitate. It was a mark of their newfound openness with one another, because Crowley did not like to show off his eyes, as a rule. He only did it when he couldn’t avoid it, or he was too drunk to care, or he was already feeling bad enough about himself that feeling a little more different didn’t hurt. Carefully, the demon reached up and pulled the metal frames free from his face, dropping them onto the grass behind his head. They would remain just within reach, in case he needed them. Turning back over on his side, he faced his friend. 

“Better?” He wasn’t sure why he was nervous, only that he was. 

“Yes.” The angel turned over on his side too, mirroring him, hands between them. “I like seeing your face. I know it’s only one part of you, this form, but I’ve grown rather attached to it.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the demon replied, a little tongue in cheek. 

Aziraphale laughed, looking down.

Crowley pressed his fingertips into the grass, wondering why the embarrassment that should have come, at the angel’s words, hadn’t arrived. There was only warmth pooling inside of him. He felt very known and very appreciated. It wasn’t something the demon was used to but it was a warm, beautiful day and he was lying across from a warm, beautiful angel, and there didn’t seem to be any harm in letting it all play out. Hell wasn’t watching, he reminded himself. Or, if they were, it was only what they’d expect him to be doing anyway. He had already disgraced himself in every way, in the eyes of his peers. He might as well taste happiness from it. 

Aziraphale had turned his attention to the grass between him, kneading it gently, letting it play through his hands. His neat pink fingertips traced the leaf of a clover. He did not break it. Did not even bend the stem. The demon wondered if he would touch him so gently, wondered if he even wanted things like that. 

“How do you love me?” He asked, impulsively. It was not ‘do you love me’, but 'how do you love me' - because the demon already knew that the angel loved him. He had known for a long time now.

Aziraphale looked over, a little surprised perhaps, but pleased.

“Many ways,” he replied, after a few seconds. “All the ways I know how to.” 

The demon’s head was full of a strange buzzing as he processed that. He took a long breath. “Is it strange if I want to kiss you?”

Aziraphale considered this, though not for too long. 

“I don’t think so,” he answered, carefully. “We’ve been in these bodies, on this earth, for a very long time. I think it’s right that when we find something funny we laugh, or when we feel sad we cry, or when we love, we love with our actions, too. I don’t think it’s strange at all.”

“Do you want to kiss me?” That was the crux of it. 

They watched one another for a moment, then the angel smiled and gave a little exhale of a laugh. Pushing himself gently up onto his elbow, he reached across the space between them and brushed tentative fingers against the demon’s cheek, tracing the edge of his jaw. 

“Almost always,” he whispered. “It’s very distracting.” 

“Is it?”

Crowley's angel laughed, softly. Then, he was leaning closer and they were kissing, and it was tender and beautiful and amazing. Their mouths were unused to it, but eager. The feel of one another’s skin was new, but wonderful. Burying their faces into the space they had always used to separate themselves, they parted their lips a little wider, pressed a little harder, let tongues find tongues, and fingers wind into hair, and palms rest against necks, feeling the beat of their blood just inches beneath the surface. Life, beating; mortal flesh, sustained by something greater. 

They kissed for a long time, then pulled apart but remained close, watching one another breathlessly. 

“I learned to cook because I was planning to seduce you,” Crowley muttered, feeling the confession slip out of him quite unnecessarily. “It was all very evil.” 

His friend laughed, the noise deep and joyful. His fingers curled around the back of the demon’s neck and, for the first time, Crowley felt a little rush of embarrassment - but it was all right, he told himself. It was just Aziraphale, and he was laughing with love in his eyes. It might be okay to be a bit vulnerable, here in his arms. 

“Well, it worked, I suppose,” the angel said, leaning back slightly to focus on his eyes. His hand was still resting on the demon’s neck, thumb tracing a slow circle. 

“I learned to cook two hundred years ago, angel,” Crowley pulled a face. “That’s a hell of a latency period, even for a shit demon.”  
The angel laughed again, then eyed him a touch mischievously. 

“Yes, you’d probably have had more success by taking your clothes off.” 

Well, that answered his next question, thought Crowley, feeling a little thrum of desire run through him, warming parts of his body which had been semi-decorative for a few centuries, now. The thought of his vague (explicit and detailed) fantasies existing in reality, actually made the demon feel a little dizzy, but he handled the moment as he always did, letting his eyes slide temporarily away from the angel’s and making a little quip. 

“Suppose that could be arranged, some time. So long as you let me make you dinner and show off a bit, first.”

He looked back up. Aziraphale was watching him with barely veiled adoration. 

“That would be perfect.”

“Well, it’s a date, then.”

The angel smiled wider. 

The demon looked away again, then back, just to check. 

They lay watching one another for a couple of long moments, then the intimacy of the moment all grew a bit much for Crowley, who was non confrontational by nature and who had last voiced his needs several thousand millennia ago - with an outcome rather less lovely. Clearing his throat, he tilted his head so his face was pressed half into the grass again, inhaling the scent of earth and clover, and the warm scent of the angel nearby. 

“Right,” he said, then grimaced with the formality of it. “Well, if it’s all right by you, I’m just going to close my eyes, for a moment, and try and recover some form of demonic dignity. You could hold me for a while, if you liked?” His cheeks were red, but the sound of his friend giving a soft chuckle lessened the anxiety he felt over uttering the request out loud. 

“I would like,” the angel murmured, leaning forwards to kiss his temple. “…Just so long as it doesn’t interfere with you recovering your dignity.” His fingers spread across the back of Crowley’s neck and coaxed him forwards, letting the demon nestle his forehead against his chest, pressing his face into the demon’s thick hair. He kissed him again on the temple, then on the crown of his head, then rested his face against him, breathing him in. 

“The part about my dignity was more of a cover,” the demon admitted, a little thickly. 

The angel laughed again. His breath warmed the demon’s skin. 

“I know.”

“I love you,” the demon whispered. 

“I know.”

They lay together until the afternoon sun had dropped beneath the trees and the glass and steel of the city was lit gold from the west. Then, then gathered their belongings and wandered back to the little flat above the bookshop, and spent the rest of eternity learning one another. It was a pretty successful afternoon, all in all.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me lurking on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heycaricari), and [Tumblr](https://heycaricari.tumblr.com/) @heycaricari


End file.
